Sunday, March 9, 2014

THE MEN IN OUR LIVES

So it’s Women’s Day today, and thanks to the omnipresence and omnipotence of technology, I’m inundated with messages, pictures and videos that are meant to motivate, inspire and allow my kind to pat ourselves on the back for being born a woman and struggling through the journey of being one. But somehow, it all seems so contrived. 

Before all the feminists out there jump at my throat, let me clarify – yes, I completely agree that atrocities are being committed against women, every day and every hour; yes, women are being tortured and persecuted mentally and physically in so many ways; yes, many parents don’t want baby girls as they are perceived to be a financial burden; yes, young girls are raped and killed for bringing so-called dishonor to their families; and so on and so forth.

That being said, it’s not that the male species is free of their share of troubles too – young boys and even men are being abused every day, mentally and physically; many men live in mortal fear of their wives who completely rule the roost; and worst of all, men are at the receiving end of feminine wiles – she is free to scream harassment and shout abuse – in short, cry wolf and/or cry a lot and get away with it.

The point I’m trying to make is that troubles and problems are a part of each person’s journey through life, whether you are a man or a woman. It’s not just because you’re born a woman that you’re a magnet for all the woes in the world.

Yes, women are physically weaker, and yes, their biological constitution allows the perpetration of atrocious crimes on them. However, we should also remember that there are many experiences that only we are blessed to go through – childbirth being the most significant of these. We have a much wider choice when it comes to the clothes we buy, the way we dress, the way we do our hair, the colours we can carry off, and the way we accessorize. (Let’s face it – if men do the same thing, they’re labeled gay J) And there is something innately glorious and wonderful about being the softer, gentler version of humankind.

Yes, women are at the receiving end of abusive treatment, but for every husband who beats his wife, there is also a mother-in-law who tortures her daughter-in-law; for every father who abuses his daughter, there is also a mother who kills her foetus because it is female. What is the point in taking pride in being a woman when many of our kind are villains too?

I’m immensely proud of who I am, not because I’m a woman who has fought it out to gain acceptance or what is due to her in a man’s world, but because I have been lucky enough to be surrounded by wonderful human beings, both men and women, who have helped me shape up to what and who I am today. Yes, there have been men who have treated me badly, but the same goes for some women in my life too.

So this Woman’s Day, although I dearly love my women friends, colleagues, sisters, cousins, aunts, relatives, and most of all, my mom, I cannot help but also think of all the men in my life, without whom I would not be even a fraction of who I am today. My best friend is a man, I get along better with most men than most women, and I find I can be myself around men without having to put on airs.  

I want to take pride in celebrating my womanhood, but not just for one day of the year. What I want to celebrate is the journey of being a woman, every day of my life, and to do this is impossible if I were to exclude the men in my life, because without them, I’m not complete. Be it my father or my brother or my cousins or my friends, or any of the random men who stayed in my life for brief periods yet contributed significantly to some aspect of who I am, each and every one of them has had as much an impact on me as the women in my life.

So my fellow womenfolk, let’s celebrate this day by all means, but let’s do it while raising a toast to all the wonderful men in our lives, without whom our worlds would be completely incomplete!


GLEE

I want that, he said, with a gleam in his eye
It was not something he would normally buy
A nondescript plastic bag with a few lumps inside
Why would you want this, I tried to deride
But to no avail, we went home with it
He clung to the bag like a child with a gift
He popped one in his mouth, it was a sight to behold
From the look on his face, I was completely sold
For it was not just the taste, but the memories of yore

That brought sheer GLEE to this adult, as in a child of four!!!

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

DEFEAT

Faster, faster – the cheers were loud
I lost sight of the surrounding crowd
My eyes were on the competition, running furiously fast
His intense focus was on not being last
Step by step, he pulled ahead
Across the finish line, first he sped
I beat you, I’m faster, hooray, he cried
I had lost the race, yet it was a moment of pride
I felt I had won the most coveted prize
When my DEFEAT shone as victory in my 5-year-old’s eyes!


PRISONERS OF TIME

So I stepped into my 40th year in this world today. Of course, the fortieth birthday as such is only in 2014, but the connotation of the big four oh itself is supposed to be a milestone of sorts, a hill that you’re going over, an age where you’re considered more old than young.

I’ve been asked by people what I want to do to mark the occasion – perhaps do something crazy like sky-diving or whitewater rafting, or achieve something like travelling the globe or climbing to the top of the career ladder, or even just create a bucket list of things I want to do before I die. Truth be told, I have no desire to do anything “special”, simply because I don’t feel that turning 40 or any other age should define what you have done, should have done, or should do with your life.

Are we prisoners of time? Or do we have any control over the way our bodies change with the passage of time (botox and plastic surgeons notwithstanding)? While we’d like to believe that we do have some control, the irony is that as we grow older, the greater the lengths we go to, to hold on to any physical vestige of youth. We try to do things to reassure ourselves that we’re not really growing older, and that age is just number we should try to stay ahead of.  

I’d like to be a prisoner of time, I’d love to hold on to a part of the past, the part where our souls are still whole and we’re children who haven’t lost their innocence. In an ideal world, it should be the erosion of my soul and not the erosion of my youth that should cause me concern. It should be the scars on my conscience and the black in my mind more than the wrinkles on my face and the white in my hair that should give me sleepless nights.


I know that who I am today is the sum total of all my past experiences, some have changed me for the better, while others have made me bitter. So on my 40th or any other birthday, I only wish for one thing to define me – that I am more of “better” than “bitter”, in spite of anything that may have happened in the interim.  

FERVOUR

Amma, I hate this, she cried out in pain
Why do you make me go through this again?
Temples that are crowded are not my thing
I’ve made it clear, right from the beginning
It was best to ignore my blossoming teen
Rather than react to her venting her spleen
My darling daughter fails to recall
How she loves rock concerts, even a crowded mall
Any argument right now would be considered flawed
Cause you understand FERVOUR only when it’s your own God!


EXPECTATION

Every race she ran, every test she took
She was by far the best, in everyone’s book
Her teachers loved her, her friends did too
She was as sweet as she was clever, that much is true
A lissom lass, she grew up to be
Said yes to the guy who went down on bended knee
As always, she gave her best to her married life
But he didn’t agree, and rejected her as his wife
The ways of humankind are unfortunately set
And the best is the best, only when EXPECTATION is met! 

CANDOUR

His hands smarted, the welt deep red
His teacher had wielded the cane till he bled
All for a lie, a half-truth in truth
Chalk it down to the folly of youth
No more lies, he decided then and there
It wasn’t worth it, no, he didn’t dare
Then one fine day, this question came his way
Darling, do I look fat, oh please do say
Alas, poor lad, he paid the price        
For CANDOUR with a woman, truth be told is a vice!